Today I've got an excerpt from Shadow Precinct by Christian Porter. He's a graduate of Howard University in Washington, D.C. He has had jobs as a programmer/designer in the video game industry, and most recently as a technology coordinator for a network of charter schools in New Orleans. He drew his inspiration for his debut novel from many different places: comic books and anime, old school kung-fu movies with awful voice dubbing, hip hop music with lots of curse words, action movies with awesome one-liners, and visionary science fiction films with awe-inspiring settings.

Excerpt...

1956

As the elevator lurched toward the unknown underground destination,

Cyrus’ heart was filled with uncertainty for the first time. All his life,

he had wanted to follow in his father Francois’ footsteps. Had he

known that would include being driven into the middle of nowhere

by two unnamed men and getting on an elevator to an underground

bunker, he may have reconsidered his position. His racing train of

thought was derailed by the commanding, yet endearing voice of the

Colonel.

“Mr. Santeaux, Mr. Everett, life in the Arms Recollection Unit

is not what you imagine it to be. By being here, right now, you are

essentially giving your life to our mission. Trust me when I say: Many

have died for this cause; the cause that President Roosevelt, God

rest his soul, passed away envisioning would lead America to greater

heights. You will be trained by some of the finest men the world has to

offer. They will make you face the unthinkable, your own countrymen.

Some people cower in the face of this concept. But any man, ANY

man, that puts the betterment of our country in jeopardy is indeed our

enemy. Rest assured, this is a war for the future of our country. The

members of the ARU are zealots in the face of this hell. And we will

emerge victorious...”

Just then, the elevator slowed to a stop. The Colonel looked over

his should at the two men.

“Allow me to introduce the men that will be training you.”

The vertical seam where the doors connected began to part and light

flooded the interior of the elevator compartment. The Colonel stepped

off the elevator first and walked down a small metal ramp. There stood

six men in a line. All were passing eyes over the new recruits, scanning

them both from head to toe. One had a smirk upon his face as if to

indicate to them that they should hop back on the elevator to avoid the

embarrassment of imminent failure. Cyrus recognized one of the men

as none other than Eliot Ness. Assuming that some stereotypes are

based in fact, he imagined the Asian man to be the one in charge of

the martial arts training. Cyrus’ eyes darted around the room, trying

to take in everything. The underground structure was massive, about

the size of three airplane hangars. The entire area was divided into

two halves, the training areas were on one side, and presumably the

barracks and other structures were located on the other. Cyrus could

see other recruits meandering about the double doors of the entrance

to the living quarters, seeking the prime position to see the fresh meat

that was about to be tossed into the grinder. There were large concrete

walls separating the different training areas. The industrial style

architecture made the under ground bunker look more like a factory

than a training facility. The ceilings were high, with huge hanging

lights that illuminated the surroundings. He could make out what

looked to be a dojo to his left. The hairs on his arm stood on end as he

envisioned himself administering many a beating to his new fraternity

in the ARU, and the uncertainty that he had felt on the elevator had

immediately evaporated from his spirit.

The Colonel walked down the ramp and nodded in the direction

of his six heads of command. They all saluted in unison, an indication

that they were as disciplined as they were loyal.

The Colonel turned back towards the two new recruits, looking

Gerald in the eyes, then shifted his gaze towards Cyrus.

“Gentlemen, the men standing behind me are tasked with

creating a force that is unparalleled in its reconnaissance, firearms,

and martial arts capabilities. The Six: martial arts supreme master

Xi Wang Xi, strength and conditioning instructor Chandler Ulysses,

academic dean Professor William Dell, onsite psychologist and

behavioral analyst Dr. Stephen Aldridge, weapons and arms specialist

Armand “Arms” Korakov, and lastly our head of reconnaissance and

arms recollection tactics, one of the famed Untouchables, Mr. Eliot

Ness. Frankly, their job is to eat you alive, digest you, and shit you

out. And out of that steaming pile of excrement will rise the finest

operatives that this great nation has ever produced. You two men

should know that the recruiters were sent out to find you based on our

own research of your backgrounds. You are also here to replace the

recently vacated positions.”

Gerald looked perplexed, and couldn’t keep silent any longer. The

remaining effects of his intoxication, most of which was left topside,

made him more prone to inquiry. He cleared his throat and spoke,

“Did you just say the heroes are going to come from shit? Shit heroes?”

Now it was the Colonel that looked perplexed. In fact, everyone

within earshot of this exchange looked perplexed. Except Chandler

Ulysses, who had a huge grin slathered on his face.

“And, Colonel, what do you mean by recently vacated positions?”

The six lieutenants collectively chuckled. “Mr. Everett, the way we

operate here is that, if we lose a recruit, we have to replace him. It is

imperative that we steadily build our numbers and we can’t afford to

lose one man before the real battles begin.”

The Colonel turned to walk away, but was interrupted by the

unsteady voice of a now completely sober Gerald.

“Colonel, sir, if you don’t mind me asking. What happened to the

recruits that we’re replacing?”

The Colonel swiveled his head around without turning his body,

”Oh, they died. Follow me gentlemen.”

The two new recruits didn’t look at each other. They merely

followed swiftly behind the Colonel.

The party proceeded at a brisk pace towards the dojo. Cyrus

caught a glimpse of an ever growing crowd of loiterers gathering

outside of the living quarters. They passed through a huge set of

wooden double doors and entered the dojo. It was a large structure,

much bigger than the exterior portrayed. Four huge wooden beams

offered support to the high roof. The main area was nothing more

than a huge square bamboo mat. There were some additional doors

that Cyrus saw and immediately wondered where they led. An armory

of hand held weapons ranging from kendo sticks and bo staffs to

katana blades and nunchukus was on the back wall, each weapon

resting perfectly on pegs that protruded from the wall. From their

distance, it almost appeared the weapons were floating in mid-air. The

Colonel walked to the middle of the room accompanied by his Asian

Lieutenant, they turned and faced the two new recruits.

“Gentlemen, as I mentioned this is Xi Wang Xi. He is one of the

most gifted martial artists the world has ever seen. He’s been across

the globe refining his hand to hand combat skills. With his guidance,

you will become human weapons. Trust me boys, this type of training

is only to be found as part of the ARU.”

When he finished speaking, the Colonel made eye contact with Xi

and nodded in his direction. Xi was a clean cut Asian man that stood

about five feet five inches. He appeared to be thin, but this was just

camouflaging an incredibly powerful physique. He wore attire fitting

of a martial artist; black pants to match his black shoes, a robe-like

top that covered his upper body drawn closed with a black belt. Xi

stepped up to the forefront. He spoke in perfect English with a tinge of

a London accent, taking both new recruits by surprise.

So much for stereotypes…

“You two blokes...to the center of the ring please.” The two men

walked toward the center of the room, where they could see red

painted lines that indicated the boundaries of the sparring area. They

turned to face their commanders and were greeted by, not only the

Colonel, Xi, and the other five lieutenants, but also roughly 25 recruits

that had jammed the entrance of the door, spilling into the dojo

behind the heads of command. “My name is Xi Wang Xi, henceforth

you will refer to me as Master Xi. The Colonel already alluded to this

fact that I have traveled across this earth learning various styles and

techniques that have made my body an instrument of death. My job

is to give you something that other branches of the military do not.

I intend to do that by beating the bloody hell out of you. Hopefully,

during this time, you will gain something of value that will aid in

you in the field. Please, face each other.” Cyrus and Gerald were too

entranced by the dojo, the Asian man with a voice that didn’t match

his countenance, and the ever swelling audience to notice their bags

had been taken from their sides, placed against the far wall as to clear

the sparring ground.

“If you two would, on my mark, begin fighting.” Cyrus looked

perplex, “Sir…Master Xi, what are the conditions of victory?” This

inquiry garnished a chuckle from the lieutenants and the crowd of

onlookers alike.

“Well chap, the next time one of you opens your eyes, you’ll

be in the infirmary...making you the obvious loser.” A seriousness

befell Cyrus. He was confident in his hand to hand combat abilities,

having received more training in his early childhood than most of

the men that were present. His gaze turned towards Gerald, who

was fumbling, trying to reach an object in the lapel pocket of his

dirty green jacket. Cyrus watched Gerald’s right hand disappear

underneath his jacket, emerging with a small flask. “Therrre she

goes.” Gerald muttered to himself before unscrewing the top and

drinking the entire contents, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down

with each gulp of the presumably alcoholic beverage. Cyrus couldn’t

help but laugh internally. “What a fucking drunken nut case,” Cyrus

thought to himself, “he might as well sign his discharge papers

now.” Cyrus was becoming intoxicated with his own self-confidence

as Gerald was achieving the same goal through different means.

Cyrus’ heart was now racing as he shifted his body into fighting

position. Xi was also observing Gerald’s peculiar pre-fight ritual,

but his perception wielded a drastically different assessment of the

situation. Xi was aware that the only men that were so brazen as to

indulge in spirits before a fight were doing so because it would help

them as opposed to hinder them. Xi Wang Xi knew Drunken Fist.

“Begin.”

The words rang out like a starting pistol at an Olympic race.

Cyrus looked up into the glossed over eyes of his opponent.

He’s mine.

He dashed towards Gerald with three large steps, on the last step

he leapt into the air with a double jump kick aimed at Gerald’s midsection.

He was shocked when he didn’t feel the impact on Gerald’s

body, who had quickly stepped out of range. Cyrus rushed again with

a flurry of strikes that were hard for the gallery of recruits to follow

with their eyes. Gerald wobbled side-to-side, ducking or swaying

out of the way of every single strike. Cyrus could not discern if his

sporadic movements were accidental or purposeful. Cyrus feigned

a round house kick to throw his opponent off the anticipation of his

attacks, then he struck with a speed that made Xi, who was watching

each recruit’s moves intently, smile in a nod to Cyrus’ execution.

Cyrus felt the adrenaline fueling him, the sweat starting to leak from

his skin. Everything else was blurred as if a veil had been placed over

it, the sounds of the room now sounding muffled, though the recruits

were worked into a frenzy by the display that they beheld. Cyrus felt

everything moving in slow motion, his blow glanced past Gerald, who

stumbled and spun with perfect timing. Cyrus could feel the hairs

on his hand and forearm brushing past Gerald’s face. Cyrus hopped

backwards now, breathing heavily. He watched Gerald rhythmically

stagger from left to right, hands in front of his face like a boxer with

his fists only lightly clenched. Gerald slurred speech interrupted

Cyrus’ train of thought, “Shhall me continue danshing?”

Before he could process another thought, Gerald was upon

him. Cyrus was taken aback by his speed, taking consecutive steps

backwards as Gerald unleashed a series of unpredictable strikes.

Gerald’s movements were confusing. As he swung a right handed blow

towards Cyrus’ throat, he stopped mid-swing and punched his ribs

with a quick strike with his left hand. Cyrus blocked the next string of

Gerald’s offensive. He regained his footing and shot a kick toward the

side of Gerald’s skull like a rocket fired from a bazooka. He thought

for certain it would connect but he was fooled again by the intoxicated

ballet that his opponent was performing. Gerald twisted his body 180

degrees ducking beneath the kick. As Cyrus was carried around by the

force of his kick he spun back to the forward position to be hit with

a blow to the abdomen by Gerald, who was walking backwards with

his back parallel to the ground, shooting rapid fire strikes into Cyrus’s

mid-section. Gerald’s upper body weight, and undoubtedly all of the

whiskey that he had consumed, forced him to fall on his back and roll

to his feet, ending with his back turned to Cyrus. This angered Cyrus.

THIS guy!

He didn’t come all this way to be made a fool by a lush such as

Mr. Everett. He felt a sudden rush of adrenaline that was spiked with

a rage that blinded him to the fact that one of his ribs was broken. He

rushed in once more, when he was within one step, Gerald threw a

spinning elbow. Cyrus eluded the elbow by ducking underneath it and

in that instant, saw his opening. Cyrus stood and delivered an open

palm strike to the sternum of Gerald. The pain from the strike sent

Gerald stumbling backwards, a final, unequivocal, sobering remedy

for his drunken state. Gerald gathered himself, but it was too late.

Cyrus had rushed him with the same surprising speed that he was

on the opposite end of just mere moments ago. Cyrus kicked his shin,

forcing Gerald down to the floor of the dojo on one knee. An axe kick

to the back of Gerald’s head would ensure his trip to the infirmary.

Cyrus didn’t have time to celebrate his victory, nor did he feel like

he was the victor at all. He coughed blood that sprayed onto the dojo

floor. Shortly thereafter his vision faded to black. He collapsed, next

to the man that he had just bested. The raucous cheers of the crowd

that now surrounded the entirety of the square sparring area weren’t

enough to wake either man.

You can buy Shadow Precinct from www.azizapublishing.com. and if you use coupon code: SPCP201209PROMO, you can get $2.00 off the sale price of an autographed copy!

About Me

Sibel Hodge

I am the No. 1 Bestselling Author of Look Behind You. My Amber Fox Mysteries and romantic comedies Fourteen Days Later and The Baby Trap are International Bestsellers on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and iBooks. I write an eclectic mix of genres, and in my spare time, I'm Wonder Woman!
My work has been shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008, Highly Commended by the Yeovil Literary Prize 2009, Runner Up in the Chapter One Promotions Novel Comp 2009, nominated Best Novel with Romantic Elements in 2010 by The Romance Reviews, Runner Up in the Best Indie Books of 2012 by Indie Book Bargains, Winner of Best Children's Book by eFestival of Words 2013, and Winner of Crime, Thrillers & Mystery | Book from a series in the SpaSpa Book Awards 2013. My novella Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave has been listed as one of the Top 40 Books About Human Rights by Accredited Online Colleges.